The devil’s offer

***

IRENE

***

I woke slowly, my head pounding like someone was beating a drum inside it. My body felt heavy… sore… like I had been dragged through hell and back.

Where… where am I?

I blinked, forcing my eyes open. A soft glow filled the room. It was dim, but I could make out silk curtains, a huge chandelier above, and a bed so soft it swallowed me whole. The sheets smelled expensive… clean… nothing like the cold stone floor of the pack cells.

Then, memories hit me.

The banquet, the jeers, the spitting faces, the rain, the car hitting me, and then... darkness.

My stomach twisted. I tried to sit up, groaning, and pain shot through my ribs.

A voice pulled me back. “Don’t strain yourself.”

I turned sharply. A woman with stood near the bedside. A doctor in a white coat. She adjusted the IV connected to my wrist, she looked calm and professional. My throat burned as I whispered, “Where… am I?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she turned toward the far corner of the room. Her voice was low, respectful. “She’s awake, sir.”

I froze.

Someone else was here.

I stiffened, my throat tightening as my eyes darted toward the darkened corner of the room. It was dim, the light from the table lamp barely cutting through the gloom—but then I saw it.

A silhouette.

Seated in a chair like a king on his throne, legs spread in lazy dominance, one powerful arm draped across the armrest. The other held a glass, liquid amber glinting like molten gold as he swirled it slowly.

He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just… watched.

The doctor murmured a few last words before stepping aside, and that was when the man rose.

God help me.

He stood and the room shrank.

The first thing I saw was height. Towering, commanding, a wall of solid muscle beneath a tailored black suit that hugged every inch of his broad frame. His tie hung loose, the top buttons of his crisp white shirt undone, revealing a dusting of dark hair on a sculpted chest that looked carved from marble.

His jawline could cut glass. Sharp. Unforgiving. His hair was dark, swept back, making him look… distinguished. Dangerous.

But it was his eyes—oh, Goddess, his eyes—that rooted me to the bed. Steel-gray, glinting with something primal, predatory. The kind of gaze that strips you bare and leaves you trembling—not because it touches you, but because it promises it could.

He stepped forward, the floor vibrating with his weight, and as the lamplight kissed his face, I gasped soundlessly.

I'd thought Trenton was handsome, yes, with his boyish charm and commanding presence, but this man? Trenton couldn't hold a candle to him. Trenton was a boy playing Alpha. There was something raw, magnetic about this man, a danger that made my pulse quicken.

And for one wild, terrifying second, I swore I knew him.

But from where?

My heart hammered as he stopped at the edge of the bed, towering over me, I felt small, too small. His gaze swept me slowly, deliberately, like he was memorizing every bruise, every scar, every crack in my soul.

"Who are you?” My voice came out hoarse, trembling despite my attempt to sound strong. “Why… why did you save me?”

His expression didn’t change. No warmth. No pity. Just cool detachment, as though I were an interesting puzzle he had already decided to claim.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until anger clawed up my throat.

“Answer me!” I snapped, my voice breaking. “Why—”

I shoved the blanket back and swung my legs off the bed, ignoring the hot pain lancing through my body. My feet hit the floor—bare, freezing, too far away from strength.

And then the world tilted.

My knees buckled.

A low, strangled sound tore from my lips as I pitched forward—straight into him.

Strong arms closed around me in an instant, iron bands locking me against a chest hard enough to break me in two. His heat engulfed me, his scent flooding my senses: smoke and spice, dark whiskey, something wild that screamed dominance.

And God help me… my body betrayed me.

My breasts pressed against his chest, the hard ridges of muscle branding my skin even through the thin hospital gown. Every inch of me was aware of him—his strength, his warmth, the raw masculinity that poured off him in waves.

A shiver rippled down my spine. My heart thundered. Something low and molten stirred in my belly, spreading like fire until I could barely breathe.

What the hell was wrong with me?

I jerked back—or tried to—but his arm didn’t move. His hold was firm, steady, like he was anchoring me to the earth.

“Easy,” he rumbled, voice so deep it vibrated through his chest and into mine.

That voice… it wasn’t human. It was smoke and gravel and midnight storms, a sound that could command armies or whisper sins into the dark.

I froze, heart slamming against my ribs as his face lowered just enough for his breath. Warm, faintly tasting of whiskey, to ghost across my temple.

“Sit,” he said. Just one word. But it wasn’t a suggestion. It was an order.

And damn me… I obeyed.

I sank back onto the bed, trembling, clutching the sheets like a lifeline as he stepped back with predatory grace.

My teeth clenched. I hated him for that. For the way my body had leaned in. For the spark that had shot straight to my core, cruel and treacherous.

I hated him.

I hated me.

“Who the hell are you?” My voice was raw, shaking with defiance I didn’t really feel. I didn't trust him, didn't trust anyone after Trenton, after Amira, after the pack that spat on me as they threw me out. I wanted to get away from this man and his secrets. But the pain had me rooted to the bed.

He didn’t answer. Not right away. He just stared, swirling his glass, his eyes never leaving mine. When he finally spoke, his words were smooth and twice as deadly.

“I’m the man who pulled you out of the gutter.”

I flinched, shame burning hot under my skin.

“And I,” he continued, his voice dipping lower, darker, until it slithered like smoke through the cracks in my soul, “am the man who can give you what you want most.”

My breath hitched. “What I want—”

He smiled then. A slow, sharp curve of lips that wasn’t a smile at all. “Revenge,” he said simply.

Something cold and wild flickered in his gaze as he set his glass down and stepped closer, his shadow swallowing me whole.

“Be my girlfriend,” he murmured, his voice calm. "A fake one, of course. Just for six months. Play the part, attend events, smile for the cameras. In return..."

He leaned in, until the heat of his breath brushed my cheek, his words a dark caress against my ear.

“I’ll help you burn their world to ash,” he said softly, “starting with the one who broke you.”

My mouth fell open, shock stealing my words. Burn their world? The idea lit something inside me, a flicker of the fire I thought I'd lost. I saw Trenton's face, his cruel smile as he rejected me, Amira's smug triumph, the pack's jeers as they spat on me. I wanted them to hurt, to suffer like I had. But this man-why would he offer this? What did he gain?

"Why?" I demanded, my voice stronger now, though my body still trembled. "Why me? What's in it for you?"

His jaw tightened, but he didn’t answer. "That’s my business. The question is, do you want to stay a victim, or do you want to fight back?"

I stared at him, my heart pounding. His eyes held mine, unyielding, and that spark flared again, unwanted, confusing. I didn't trust him, but the thought of tearing down Trenton, of making Amira choke on her own lies, was a drug I couldn't resist. My babies, my dignity, my life-they'd taken everything. Maybe he was a devil, but he was offering me a chance to fight back.

"What's the catch?" I asked, my voice low, wary.

"No catch," he said, his smile sharp. "Just a contract. Be mine in name, and I'll be your weapon."

God.

His scent, his heat, his voice. All of it crashed over me like a wave, dragging me under until I couldn’t tell where rage ended and temptation began.

For a long moment, I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t think.

Then, slowly, I lifted my eyes to his again.

I swallowed, still unable to find my voice, my throat dry. The doctor hovered nearby, pretending not to listen, but I felt her eyes. The room was too quiet, the weight of his offer pressing down on me. I was weak, broken, but that fire in me, small as it was, still burned. I could say no, stumble back into the world alone, with nothing. Or I could say yes and let this stranger help me destroy the ones who'd destroyed me.

And for one dizzy moment… I almost said yes.

Almost.

A laughter-bitter, broken, spilled from my lips.

My own voice sounded strange to me.

"You think l'd give myself to another man so easily?" | whispered, my throat raw. "I'd rather crawl through hell on my knees than belong to anyone again."